


Misery's Company

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when one of them's laid up sick, they're still a team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery's Company

First published in  _Gateways 5_ (2002)

 

It took a few minutes for O’Neill to notice Teal’c standing at the foot of his bed, silently waiting. That didn’t bother Teal’c. He had plenty of time and wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with O’Neill, anyway. Captain Carter had been most vague.

“Teal’c?” O’Neill blinked at him with a frown, raising his head a little from the pillow. He didn’t appear to be any better than the day before, but Dr. Frasier had insisted he was more than ready for company. Whatever illness O’Neill had picked up on PRX-398, Dr. Frasier assured them it was not dangerous, merely uncomfortable and temporarily weakening. Teal’c had been gratified by the news, not minding that the team would be standing down until their leader was on his feet again. He would rather wait than go without O’Neill.

He nodded his head once in answer to O’Neill’s question. “It is I.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I am visiting,” Teal’c replied, a bit discomfited. If even O’Neill did not know why he was there, what _was_ he doing there?

“Oh.” O’Neill’s head dropped back to the pillow. “Why didn’tcha say something? Pull up a chair.” He gave a vague wave at the infirmary in general.

Teal’c did so, and assuming O’Neill also meant that he should sit down on it, he took his place.

They stared silently at each other. Now what?

O’Neill cleared his throat. “Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to cheer me up?” he asked wryly.

Teal’c frowned. He must have missed something. “Captain Carter did not indicate that I was to do so, but--”

“Carter put you up to this?” O’Neill’s eyes widened.

“Captain Carter merely stated it was custom among the Tauri to ‘visit a sick friend.’ She did not say what one did when ‘visiting.’”

“Ah.” It seemed the illness had adversely affected O’Neill’s speaking abilities; Teal’c had never heard him be so laconic. “Well...usually one just...talks. You know, tries to get your mind off how lousy you feel and how ready you are to blow the joint and get back to work.”

“I see,” Teal’c said solemnly. He considered that for a moment. “What are we to talk about that would be sufficiently distracting?”

“Oh, for...” O’Neill shifted in bed, pushing himself up a little and then pulling the blankets tighter around him when he unexpectedly shivered. “Look, don’t worry about it. I appreciate the visit, but tell Carter I’m not that sick and I don’t need any company.”

He was annoyed, Teal’c decided, no doubt in part to the Jaffa’s lack of skill at this ‘visiting.’ And he rather doubted that annoying O’Neill had been what Captain Carter had had in mind. Teal’c tried again. “It is a most satisfactory day outside. The temperature is 23 degrees Celsius and there are few clouds in the sky.”

“Teal’c.” O’Neill’s voice now sounded over-patient, which Teal’c had come to recognize meant he was not feeling patient at all. “What’re you talking about?”

Teal’c raised an eyebrow. He’d thought it had been obvious. “The weather. Daniel Jackson said it is a popular topic of conversation among those who have nothing else to say.” The archaeologist had called it “small talk,” apparently an important skill to develop among the Tauri.

O’Neill’s eyes closed, his face constricting as he pressed it into the pillow with a groan.

Teal’c frowned again. “Are you unwell? Should I summon Dr. Frasier?”

“No. NO,” O’Neill snapped, then opened his eyes again with a large, insincere smile. “Look...Teal’c...I don’t need a visit. I’m perfectly happy being miserable by myself. And I absolutely, positively, do _not_ want to talk about the weather.”

Apparently, O’Neill had not cultivated the skill of small talk. That helped explain why so many SG-1 came across didn’t seem to care much for their leader, to Teal’c’s silent amusement. But he didn’t allow himself even a hint of a smile, merely canting his head to one side. “It brings you enjoyment to be miserable by yourself?” he asked with one part curiosity and one part something he had learned from O’Neill and practiced only with him: teasing.

Illness or not, O’Neill had not become a leader without learning to be perceptive. He stared at Teal’c for a long moment, vexation softening into a glint of humor. “Okay, so it’s not a barrel of laughs, but it beats trying to make small talk.”

Teal’c made a note not to discuss the weather with O’Neill again. Instead, he cast his eye around the room, looking for some topic that would interest ill man, his eyes lighting on the machine sitting on a cart several feet away. “Shall I turn on the television, O’Neill?” he asked, turning back to the bed and its occupant.

O’Neill had followed his gaze, also looking at the cart, and he gave a half-shrug. “Actually, I wasn’t watching it, Teal’c, I was playing video games.”

Teal’c drew his brows together. “I am unfamiliar with this term.”

“Video games--you know...” Teal’c’s expression must have expressed that he didn’t because O’Neill gave an exasperated sigh. “Just pull the thing closer and I’ll show you.”

Teal’c stood and rolled the cart close enough to the bed so O’Neill could reach it. But instead of turning on the machine, he picked up one of the colorful pieces of equipment from the shelf below the television. It appeared to be a miniature control device, complete with several buttons of various shapes and markings. Teal’c leaned forward, intrigued, to observe.

“This,” O’Neill announced with some degree of gravity, “is Nintendo.”

“Indeed.” Teal’c stored the unfamiliar word with the many others he’d learned since coming to the planet. “Did you not say it was a ‘video game’?”

“It is a video game--well, it’s one kind of video game, one of the first ones. Still the best, if you ask me.”

Teal’c did not, but he always accepted volunteered information. He watched as O’Neill reached out to turn on the television, but instead of a program, a colorful screen with words on it appeared. Teal’c was just starting to learn to read that unfamiliar alphabet, tutored by Daniel Jackson when they were off-duty, but these words were not long and he had little difficulty sounding them out.             

“Rad Racer?” He turned to O’Neill.

O’Neill nodded. “Yup. Best Nintendo racing game there is. You’re gonna love it.”

In all honesty, Teal’c did not always love everything O’Neill seemed certain he would, the last such disastrous example being the appliance named a “blender.” But it never seemed to deter O’Neill from trying again. Nor would Teal’c have really wanted it any other way.

Weak, mechanical music accompanied the colorful screen as it changed from the title to a crude drawings of two machines Teal’c assumed to be Tauri vehicles, a red and a white. O’Neill pushed a button, and the image changed again, this time to a poorly drawn vista of a road stretching across what appeared to be a desert, the red vehicle sitting on the middle of the road. Another moment and the road began to move, or perhaps the implication was the vehicle was moving down the road. Teal’c’s eyebrows slowly climbed as O’Neill proceeded to gyrate this way and that in his bed, the vehicle seeming to move correspondingly to the left and right, going around other vehicles that appeared. A small box in one corner of the screen counted off numbers, then, upon reaching zero, began to count again. In all, it seemed a great deal of pointless physical work.

“What is the purpose of this video game, O’Neill?” he finally asked.

“To get to the end of the course...before your time runs out. You do that, and you make it to the next level...the city.” O’Neill seemed extremely distracted.

Teal’c watched as the red vehicle ran off the road and into what seemed vaguely to be a tree. O’Neill cursed, and several numbers counted down before the vehicle righted itself and began moving again.

“I see,” Teal’c said gravely. “So one is to ascend the levels until one reaches the final one. What is the reward for completion?”

The vehicle had disappeared, replaced by a black screen that said “Game Over.” O’Neill scowled as he answered Teal’c’s question. “The reward is knowing you beat the game. Call it...personal satisfaction.” He cocked his head and then offered the controlling device to Teal’c. “You want to give it a try?”

“I have never driven such a vehicle before.”

“That doesn’t matter, Teal’c--kids play this stuff. You just have to remember that these,” he demonstrated the buttons, “make it go left or right, and this is the brake.”

Kids? Teal’c was not accustomed to playing children’s games, but if O’Neill was doing so perhaps this game would be acceptable. Of course, O’Neill was not the most...dignified of adults.

The screen with the two vehicles came up again, and Teal’c’s attention returned to it as he chose the white one. A moment later, he was speeding down the same road. Well, not him, of course, but...it was oddly absorbing. The gyrations did not seem to be necessary at all, merely fast manipulation of the buttons.

He did not seem to be fast enough. It was keenly disappointing when the vehicle collided with another, and by the time it righted itself, the black screen had reappeared to announce the end of the game.

“That was unjust. The vehicle appeared directly before mine.”

O’Neill was grinning at him. “That’s what they all say. You’re doing okay. Just give it another try.”

He did. By the eleventh attempt, he succeeded in reaching the rough-hewn Terran city. Teal’c allowed himself a small smile.

“Not bad.” O’Neill had grown fatigued again and lain down, but he was smiling. Perhaps this visit would be a success, after all, Teal’c mused. He watched as his commander pushed himself up on his elbows now. “You want to try something two-player this time?”            

That meant, apparently, that they could take part concurrently. O’Neill had picked up and blown into a cartridge--“They’re old,” he said to Teal’c, as if that were an explanation--and inserted it into the place of the other into the machine. This video game was called “Contra,” which made as much sense to Teal’c as “Rad Racer.” But while just as lacking in artistic style as the first game, this one was far more engrossing. Teal’c manipulated his “player”--a small figure in blue pants with a gun--and fired at what O’Neill assured him was the enemy. An alien enemy, in fact, although other than the other humanoids, Teal’c saw no resemblance in the targets to any being he’d seen in his travels.

No matter. This, Teal’c knew how to do, and soon had both outlived O’Neill and ascended through the initial two levels.

That did not seem to please O’Neill any more than his own lack of success, and he stopped the game before Teal’c could continue. Perhaps it was not accepted that the subordinate exceed the commander? But O’Neill had never shown such vanity before. No, this seemed to Teal’c a matter of personal honor, not professional.

“Okay, hotshot, let’s see you try a sport,” O’Neill announced in the tone Teal’c had come to recognize meant he would not admit failure. He reached to remove the cartridge.

Teal’c turned to him. “I do not believe Dr. Frasier would approve of your taking part in such a physical activity.”

“Not a real sport, Teal’c,” O’Neill groaned. “A sport video game.”

Teal’c knew better than to ask. Another minute and some more blowing and switching cartridges later, O’Neill grinned at him like the feline that had just consumed an avian. When the video game title came up, Teal’c knew why: Ice Hockey.

O’Neill had introduced him to the game only a few weeks before during an evening when they watched such a game on the television in the Recreation Room. It was, Teal’c had learned that day, O’Neill’s favorite sport and one he had played at one time. What Teal’c had seen on the television then did not seem much like the game on the screen before him, but Teal’c quickly learned the rules all the same.

O’Neill was decidedly displeased at losing his favorite sport, 3-9.

Perhaps this was not the right time to be pursuing this activity. O’Neill looked fatigued and not at all cheered by Teal’c’s visit. “Would you prefer to win the next game?” Teal’c asked graciously.

The offer did not seem to help, the red in O’Neill’s face not making it look any healthier. “NO, I wouldn’t...that does it. Play whatever you want--I’m taking a nap.” And he curled on his side away from Teal’c and, making a big show of plumping his pillow, closed his eyes.

Teal’c considered. Is that what O’Neill truly wanted or was it the sarcasm the Jaffa was still learning to recognize? Perhaps it did not matter. O’Neill already appeared asleep, and Teal’c was still curious to explore these video games. Carefully choosing one labelled “Tetris” from the stack beside the Nintendo machine, he blew into it as O’Neill had and replaced the “Ice Hockey” game with it. Soon, he was busy trying to disintegrate the various shapes descending from the top of the screen and failing completely.

O’Neill had not fallen asleep, after all, and soon turned back to face the television, only to grumble, “Aw, geez, you’re doing it all wrong.”

It did not take long to learn the correct method, of trying to arrange the pieces to fit together rather than exploding them. A different kind of challenge; Teal’c approved. O’Neill eventually just lay and watched Teal’c play, cheering him on as the game grew progressively more challenging.

“You’re a natural,” O’Neill finally announced with a yawn as Teal’c defeated another level. “We have _got_ to introduce you soon to Final Fantasy.”

The final level of the Nintendo games? Teal’c wondered. It sounded intriguing.

O’Neill did finally fall asleep, his expression no longer reflecting his earlier expressed displeasure. In fact, he looked remarkably at peace. Teal’c wondered with some guilt if he should have allowed the ill man to play more instead of just watch, but O’Neill hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, the visit appeared to have been a complete success. Interesting, that a warrior would choose a child’s war game among others for relaxation. There was much about O’Neill that Teal’c still did not understand. If this was what it took to cheer a “sick friend,” however, then Teal’c was more than willing.

But there were still several more levels of the game to vanquish...

Dr. Frasier ushered him out of the infirmary an hour later with a promise he could return later to play after O’Neill was awake once more. Teal’c lifted his chin as he left. Did she not realize that these deceptively titled “games” were useful tests of reflex and thinking skills? Jaffa did not simply “play.”

But perhaps his son would enjoy such a training game. He could instruct Rya’c on the most productive methods of vanquishing each level, after learning them himself. Teal’c would certainly have to visit O’Neill again, soon.

Until then, however, perhaps he could find out where one could acquire such a Nintendo of one’s own...

 

“Colonel?” Samantha Carter barely whispered, afraid of waking the man if he was sleeping but not wanting to walk in unannounced. She moved a few inches closer to the curtain partitioning off the one bed from the rest of the busy infirmary. “Colonel?”

The fatigue in the voice that answered her didn’t at all diminish its wryness. “Carter, you going to stand out there all day talking to yourself?”

“No, sir,” she answered automatically, slipping past the curtain. The sight of her commander, looking somewhat the worse for wear, made her hesitate again. She’d expected the flush of fever and the tired eyes, but not the years the illness had seemed to add. For once, the colonel really looked his age.

Apparently, she stood there silently for too long for Jack O’Neill raised one eyebrow at her in invitation to speak up.

“Uh, I just wanted to see how you were doing, sir.”

“Ah. Paying a visit to a sick friend, right?”

The sardonic tone made her blush. “I’m sorry about that, sir--Teal’c just seemed a little at loose ends so I suggested--”

A weak wave of the hand. “Don’t worry about it, Captain. We had...fun.”

That made her smile. “I’m glad to hear that, sir.”

“How ‘bout we can the ‘sir’ while I’m flat on my back, Carter? Makes me feel like I’m supposed to sit up and salute. Have a seat and take your best shot at cheering me up.”

She gave him a surprised look. “Oh. Uh, okay.” She drew up a nearby chair, giving the TV set a glance as she did. Perhaps the colonel and Teal’c had watched a movie together? The Jaffa had been in there for hours...

They sat and lay, respectively, in total silence for what was probably a full minute but felt much longer to Sam. What were you supposed to say to your commanding officer off-duty? It wasn’t like they usually hung out after missions. She’d seen Daniel and the colonel leave together and Teal’c and O’Neill also seemed to spend a lot of time with each other, but Daniel was a civilian and Teal’c seemed more an equal than a subordinate. You didn’t often sit down and chat with someone who outranked you. Not to mention someone you were still a little in awe of sometimes.

“You know, Carter,” O’Neill finally said conversationally, “Teal’c’s a regular little chatterbox compared to you.”

She flushed at that, knowing a reproof when she heard one. “Sorry, sir--Colonel. Um, SG-9 is back from their mission to P3A-255. Looks like they made good progress. They’re just getting their return check-ups now.” She pointed back over her shoulder to the curtain.

“And they didn’t even say hello.”

“SG-3 and -8 just left for their own exploratory missions. The planet SG-3 went to, PR3-588, shows a lot of promise, in particular. We’re getting some readings we think might be--”

“Captain.”

The very patient interruption shut her up instantly and shifted her attention to O’Neill, who looked back at her with that particular mix of exasperation and amusement she’d learned to read so well since being under his command. It usually meant the scientist was taking over the soldier in her, and he wanted the concise captain back.

But he continued, “One of the few good things about getting sick and being laid up for a while is getting to skip all the status reports and terminally boring parts of this job. You get my drift?”

“Yes, sir,” she said awkwardly and lapsed again into silence, intently studying the one piece of equipment by the bed, a temperature gauge. What on earth had Teal’c and the colonel talked about all that time the Jaffa had been in there? O’Neill didn’t seem to be a great conversationalist, or in the best of moods. Then again, she wasn’t helping much, either.

A loud sigh from him. “Look, Carter, if you’d rather be someplace else, I understand. Ol’ Doc Frasier keeps me pretty busy sleeping and giving blood and sleeping and taking my temp--did I mention sleeping? Consider me cheered up, and go ahead back to your latest science project...whatever...thing.”

Her latest project-whatever-thing was actually a method of refining Naquadah she had tried to explain to him a week before until his eyes had glazed over and she’d decided to drop it. To have reached the position he had, Jack O’Neill had to be intelligent, educated, and possessing more than a little wisdom and good sense. But between his insistence on leaving the science to the scientists and his determined good-naturedly sarcastic exterior, she never much got past the “whatever” reactions with him.

Carter took a breath and softened her voice out of the military-report range. “Actually, Colonel, I would like to stay and keep you a company for a little bit if that’s all right.”

It was his turn to look surprised, though he recovered quickly. “Fine by me. Entertainment isn’t exactly high on Frasier’s ‘must have’ list for her inmates.”

Sam dimpled. “I think Janet might object a little to having her infirmary compared to a prison.”

“Yeah, well, same principle,” O’Neill grumbled.

Another lengthy pause as Sam searched for some topic of conversation interesting to them both. “It’s a nice day outside. I think spring’s starting to arrive.”

“Carter--” It was nearly a growl. “--no weather reports.”

That seemed to be a sore spot for some reason. Sam gulped. “Uh, yes, sir. No weather.”

“And stop ‘sirring’ me.”

“Yes, uh, Colonel.”

He was sighing again. She was starting to think the colonel would be less aggravated if she left, entertainment or no. Sam tried one more time. “Cassie sends her love.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows quirked with interest, and she breathed a mental sigh of relief. Finally. “How’s the munchkin?”

“Good. She’s grown two inches since she first arrived.”

“No kidding? Tell her no more growing so fast or I’m not taking her to the game.”

Sam crossed her legs, starting to feel a little more at ease. “What game would that be, Colonel?”

“Hockey.” His tone made it clear she shouldn’t have even needed to ask, and she resisted the urge to smile again.

She just nodded. “Of course.”

A harder shiver passed through O’Neill, and he slipped a little further into the pile of covers on his bed. That had to be the fever Janet had mentioned, and now that Sam thought of it, he looked a little flushed, keen brown eyes unusually dull. He had to be feeling pretty miserable, and chatting with a guest was perhaps not the best remedy for that.

She shifted in her chair. “Colonel, if you’d like to get some rest--”

One sharp shake of the head. “Rest is highly overrated, Carter,” O’Neill answered tiredly, his usual wit momentarily shelved. “It’s too easy to feel like everyone’s gone on and forgotten you.”

The admission unexpectedly moved her. The chinks in Jack O’Neill’s armor were few and far between, but they always seemed to reveal new insights rather than a disappointing lack of depth one would have expected from an initial encounter with the man. There was definitely more to Jack O’Neill than met the eye, even after over a year of serving together.

And then the opening closed up just as quickly as it had appeared. “So, Carter, what else floats your boat besides science and the Air Force?”

She sat stymied for a long minute, glancing this way and that as she switched gears and cast about for an answer. “Uh, well, I’ve always also enjoyed math, especially differential equations and--”

“Uh-uh.”

She stumbled to a halt. “Excuse me?”

He curled into his pillow, looking as if he were making himself comfortable for a story. “Besides the intellectual stuff. What do you do for fun?”

“That is fun,” she protested.

“Hobbies, Carter. I’m talking about the things you don’t learn in school.”

“Oh. Well, I enjoy cooking.”

His face registered surprise again. “Really? You should give our chef lessons.”

She bit back a smile. “And I like to knit when I have the time.”

“Knit,” he repeated, sounding far less impressed.

Sam found herself getting defensive. “Yes, knit. My mom taught me how. I’ve been working on teaching Cassie, in fact.”

His expression softened at the mention of her mom, and she knew he wouldn’t tease her about it again, not disrespectfully. Jack O’Neill knew a lot about grieving and keeping the memory of the dead. Only, his dead was his little boy, killed by his own gun, while hers was an adult woman who had lived to marry and see her children born before a car accident had taken her life.

The whole conversation had taken a turn she didn’t like, and Sam cleared her throat. “How about you, Colonel? Besides the hockey.” Everyone at the SGC, it seemed, knew about Jack O’Neill and hockey.

She expected another flip answer, but he seemed to take her question seriously...or maybe he just was not feeling well. He gave a weak shrug. “Books. I read a lot of books when I was a kid, everything from _Sherlock Holmes_ to _Treasure Island_. And astronomy. You’d think it’d get old with our job, but I still love looking at the stars. I can name you any constellation you can see from Earth.”

Sam was about to ask if that included only their night sky before realizing O’Neill had spent ample time on both hemispheres, sometimes under less-than-ideal circumstances. She wondered idly if watching the sky had given him any respite as a POW, but she doubted either of them were ready to get that personal.

But astronomy, that was the first subject raised they truly shared. She sat back in her chair, allowing herself to get comfortable and try to forget their subordinate-superior status. After all, this was a visit paid by one friend to another, right?

“So, what got you interested in astronomy?”

Jack seemed to be warming to the subject, too. “My dad. Bought me a telescope when I was eight, then taught me what I was looking at. I was going to teach Charlie, too, but...”

Sam quickly steered the conversation away from that memory, eager not to lose the first common thread they’d found. “I learned the constellations as a girl scout. I think my favorite was always Cassiopeia--I always imagined her so beautiful.” She suddenly blushed as she realized how wistful she sounded, but O’Neill didn’t seem to notice.

“Mine’s Orion’s Belt. Something about how those stars line up--makes you think things weren’t made by accident, you know?”

She immediately nodded. She really did know. But who would have thought Jack O’Neill felt that way? Then again, why not? Hadn’t she moments before considered there was more to her CO than met the eye? And she could well imagine a man who had lost his son so tragically needed to feel there was order, reason, in the universe.

Maybe they weren’t even that different.

“Besides, the guy had a cool sword. I really wanted one like that when I was a kid.”

The unexpected addition cracked her up before she caught herself. O’Neill was grinning at her, too. Okay, so they weren’t exactly alike, and he wasn’t about to completely bare his soul to her. But she rather liked him that way. He wouldn’t have been Jack O’Neill without that private side and unpredictability.

“How about the planets?” she asked, crossing her legs on her chair as she warmed to the subject. “I’ve always been fascinated by Jupiter--”

The conversation was one of the best she’d taken part in in a long time. Sam forgot about the infirmary, the difference in rank, even the earlier awkwardness as one enthusiast connected with another and found common ground to enjoy together. O’Neill, too, dropped the wisecracks and let his guard down for a while as he took turns listening and reminiscing.

The animated discussion eventually took its toll. She’d heard the fatigue creeping into his voice, but when Jack finally dropped off to sleep in mid-sentence, Sam was startled to realize nearly three hours later. Time hadn’t passed that fast since the quantum physics roundtable discussion she’d attended earlier that year at MIT. But with Colonel O’Neill? Who would have thought?

She stood and crept out of the cubicle on tiptoes. That had actually been fun. Sam was already looking forward to their next talk. She could probably dig up a few astronomy books to bring along.

But in the meantime, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to brush up on her constellations. _She_ was supposed to be the astrophysicist, after all...

 

“Hi, Jack.”

There was no wall to knock on so Daniel had just stuck his head through the curtain to see if O’Neill was awake. The man looked grumpier than Sam had insisted he was, but maybe he’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed. If there was a right side when you were sick. Besides, Daniel had had plenty of experience with an irritable Jack O’Neill.

It was amazing how much Jack’s face cleared at the greeting, though. Perhaps Sam and Teal’c had been right that Jack was anxious for company. It would have seemed out of character, but then, so was a week in bed. Daniel was amazed the infirmary was still intact.

“Daniel,” Jack said by way of greeting. “What brings you to my little corner of Doc Frasier’s kingdom?”

Daniel came all the way into the cubicle, grinning. “Your little corner is right--I think they’re talking about naming the bed after you.”

“Pots and kettles, Jackson,” was O’Neill’s dry retort.

A year before, Daniel wouldn’t have seen the humor lingering behind his friend’s sarcasm. Maybe it hadn’t even been there--Jack had changed a lot since Daniel had first met him. Now, he could see a lot more than the surface the colonel presented to the world at large. Which was why Jack had become a friend more than a colleague or leader. O’Neill could still startle and nonplus Daniel, but he could no longer scare or disgust him. Daniel knew him too well now.

He cleared his throat. This was hardly the time for such introspection, though. Daniel held up the book he’d brought with him. “Actually, I thought I’d come by and read to you for a while, if that’s okay with you.”

Jack peered at him suspiciously. “One of your books, Daniel? I’m not that sick.”

Daniel didn’t even react to the barb. “It is one of my books, but Sam said you liked Conan Doyle.”

Something subtle shifted in Jack’s face. A memory, perhaps? “Holmes? You read Sherlock Holmes?”

Daniel pulled himself a little straighter. “Why not? You think all I read is ancient texts?”

A hand waved for him to sit down, and feeling as though he’d passed some test, Daniel did. “Well, it’s not like you ever talk about anything else,” O’Neill said defensively.

“I do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Not.”

Daniel shook his head. What was it about being with this man that made him regress to his own childhood, short as it had been? “It doesn’t exactly come up a lot in what we do, Jack. What do you want me to say when I’m inspecting artifacts with traces of Mayan heritage, ‘Yeah, Moriarty conducted a detailed study on burial urns like this one’?”

“Well, no, I just...are you gonna argue all day or read the book?” Jack asked with exaggerated exasperation.

Daniel tried not to smile. “What was I thinking?” And he sat back in the chair, opening the volume to the front. “ _‘The Adventure of the Speckled Band,’_ ” he began. “ _‘On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none--’_ ”

“What got you into Holmes?”

Daniel looked up from the book, blinking at the interruption. “Excuse me?”

Jack shifted in bed, more slowly than Daniel was used to seeing him move. It unexpectedly bothered him to see his active friend so subdued, but he set that aside. “Holmes. Doesn’t exactly seem your type of book, Daniel.”

He stuck his finger in the book to keep his place and turned all his attention to the question. “Uh, well, one of my foster parents gave me a book of Sherlock Holmes stories for Christmas. I thought it was amazing he could pick up on the smallest detail and work out everything through logic. He was actually the perfect role model for a young would-be archaeologist.”

Jack looked tired and a little flushed with fever, but the examining look he gave Daniel didn’t seem to miss much. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Guess I always thought of Holmes as a pretty cold, ‘just the facts’ Joe Friday kinda guy. Reminds me of a lot of scientists I know. Not exactly the ‘get excited over a piece of rock’ kinda guy.”

“I’m a scientist, too, Jack,” Daniel answered a little stiffly. He didn’t know where this conversation was going, but he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Yeah, but...” O’Neill’s hands waved in some vague attempt at expression. “...you know, you care. All that mattered to Holmes was closing the case, proving that intellect of his. He wasn’t interested in people like you are.”

Daniel found himself taken aback. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was a compliment, unusual in itself from Jack, let alone a compliment for being what Jack usually referred to as “touchy-feely.” Daniel’s voice softened, a little humbled. “He cared about Watson.”

To Daniel’s delight, that made Jack squirm. He knew Daniel wasn’t just talking about Doyle’s characters. “Okay, yeah, he did. So, you gonna read, Jackson, or what?”

“Sorry.” Daniel ducked back into the book, repressing another smile. God forbid Jack O’Neill would even remotely claim to care if it wasn’t in the heat of battle when lives were at stake. Not that the archaeologist needed the admission to know how Jack felt. Once he’d gotten to know the man, he’d seen the fondness in every glance, read his true feelings in every casual pat on the shoulder. Jack probably would have been appalled to find out just how transparent he was.

The smile was getting harder to smother, and Daniel quickly found his place and began reading again.

“ _‘...but none commonplace; for working as he did rather for the love of the art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, even the fantastic. Of all these varied--’_ ”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

Daniel lost his place again. “What?”

“Which one’s your favorite? Holmes Story?”

“You know, Jack, Cassie has a longer attention span than you do.”

Jack stuck his tongue out at him.

Daniel sighed. Cassie was also sometimes a lot more mature than O’Neill. “Um...’The Empty House,’ I guess. I was glad Holmes wasn’t really dead, after all.” He’d mourned almost as deeply as Watson, in fact, at the detective’s death, until the next story had proved it a sham.

“Yeah. Too bad life doesn’t work that way, huh?”

Daniel adjusted his glasses with one hand. “Well, the Nox might not agree with you.”

Jack almost smiled. “‘Guess death doesn’t mean what it used to. Too bad we can’t take the Nox back a few years and...” He tapered off, the traces of smile disappearing.

And resurrect Charlie? Daniel wondered. Or go back a few years further to save his own parents. If only you could rewrite a life like you could a story.

Then again, would he have ever written Jack O’Neill into his? He doubted it. Who would have ever thought an Air Force colonel would become suspiciously close to being Daniel Jackson’s first real best friend? Maybe the the Writer of Life knew what he was doing, after all.

In answer to Jack, though, he just cleared his throat and said a subdued, “Yeah.” There were some what-ifs even archaeologists did not like to consider.

Jack didn’t say anything else, and so Daniel picked up the book and began to read again. “ _‘Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed--’_ ”

“My favorite was ‘A Scandal in Bohemia.’ It was quite a lady in that one.”

The book slammed shut with resounding force. “You don’t really want me to read to you, do you?” Daniel grated out.

A slight, almost embarrassed shrug. “Hey, I appreciate the gesture, really. I guess this just all feels a little too Mary Poppins, y’know?”

Daniel forced himself to be patient. “O-kay,” he said slowly. “How ‘bout I leave you the book, and you can read it yourself when you feel up to it?”

“Swell.” Jack pulled the blanket closer around his neck and shut his eyes.

Daniel hesitated in mid-motion of leaning forward to set the book down on the small table next to the bed. What was he to make of that monosyllabic answer? Jack was unquestionably tired and not feeling well, and the younger man was perfectly willing to cut him some slack for that, although O’Neill could be difficult even at the best of times. But there was something else besides petulance Daniel wasn’t quite catching.

He took a stab at it, leaning back in his chair. “That doesn’t mean I have to go yet. You mind company for a little longer?”

Wary eyes reopened to look him over. “I don’t know, Jackson, my schedule’s looking kinda full between the naps, Frasier’s torture sessions, and weather reports.”

Ah. Okay, this he knew how to deal with. Daniel gave his friend a smug grin. “Well, that’s too bad, Jack, ‘cause I just read this great legend off one of the pillars SG-4 filmed that I’ve been wanting to share with someone. You’re gonna love it. There was this king, Rameth, who ordered a temple to be built...”

Jack had pasted a put-upon look on his face, but he was listening now, unlike when Daniel had been reading. For all the times he’d cut the archaeologist off in mid-explanation on missions, he had that part of him that loved Sir Conan Doyle and his detective creation in common with Daniel and the archaeologist’s fascination with the people of all cultures and ages. It wasn’t a connection they made often, but it was one of the things that had led to Jack becoming an unexpected friend.

As well as that same history of loss and fear of abandonment haunting them both. Sam had lost a mother when she was young, and Teal’c had turned his back on all his people, but it was in Jack that Daniel felt a resonant comprehension. And he was pretty sure Jack had picked up on it, too.

Not that either of them would have ever said it. Nor did they have to.

But if staying and talking for a while helped, it certainly seemed a little thing to do. Besides, Daniel loved to talk.

Jack’s snoring wound him to a stop some time later. Chagrin gave way to an indulgent shake of the head. Truth be told, Jack looked as though he needed the sleep, to the point Daniel would have been worried if not for Janet’s firm reassurances. At least he’d gotten Jack to relax, and it wasn’t like it was the first time he’d put someone to sleep with one of his stories.

Daniel stood slowly, trying not to wake the sleeper. Okay, at least he knew now what worked. No more books, but stories were good. Or just company. He could do that. There was the fascinating monograph on the Peloponnesian War he’d just come across, and Jack would probably enjoy the battle strategies.

Halfway to the curtain, Daniel stopped, silently snapping his fingers. He’d forgotten to ask Jack if he knew anything about--well, next time. Teal’c wasn’t talking, but surely _someone_ had to know why the Jaffa would have asked him about where to get a Nintendo system, of all things...

 

Murmurs beyond his reach floated past Jack’s awareness, and he listened groggily to them. Surely not more visitors...no, it seemed to be just business as usual in the infirmary. He couldn’t wait to get out of there and back to his own home and bed or at least his assigned quarters in the SGC.

Of course, he’d probably stop receiving visitors there, and the thought was surprisingly disappointing. For all it wore him out to play host to various guests, Jack was privately grateful for them, both for the effort and the concern behind it. He’d seen his people almost more in the last few days than when they were on a mission together. He’d really gotten lucky with SG-1 despite initial misgivings--they were a good team.

No. They were good _friends_.

Who would have thought an old career Air Force guy like himself would cozy up to a doctor captain, an absent-minded archaeologist, and an alien warrior, for pete’s sake? Or that they’d see anything in him, for that matter. Maybe a guy could learn something from all this...

Nah.

He was bound to have visitors again soon, though, or Frasier would be by to poke and prod him some more. He’d better rest up while he had the chance.

Still exhausted and more than a little cold, Jack O’Neill snuggled further under the thick infirmary blankets and fell asleep with a grin on his face.

The End


End file.
